


Finding My Way Into Your Heart

by Kamikaze_Embers



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Awkwardness, Cooking, Cooking Lessons, Flirting, I love this group, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Multi, Self-Doubt, Threesome - M/M/M, Written for someone on discord, dumbass gays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 01:34:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19842805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamikaze_Embers/pseuds/Kamikaze_Embers
Summary: B-52 just wants to make a simple cake for someone dear to him.





	Finding My Way Into Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Starfeathers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starfeathers/gifts).



“Strawberry Mousse?” B-52 asks, flipping through the cookbook with mismatched eyes. He taps the pen against his chin, frowning deeply as he reads over the recipe. It’s still early. If the cake takes about an hour to make, he should have enough time to let it cool off and ice it properly. Did Napoleon like hearts or flowers? Or neither, perhaps he’d prefer it plain? B-52 begins to panic- this had to be perfect. If he couldn’t even make a perfect cake, what good was he? Napoleon would be disappointed, without a doubt. His hands shake as the cookbook falls to the ground. Before B-52 knew what was happening, a tall hat blocked most of his vision.

“Heh, looks like you dropped something~!” A cheerful, unmistakable voice chirps, handing his the book he’d drop, thumb holding his page. B-52 blinks, staring back into those bright red eyes, momentarily letting his thoughts drift away. How was it possible for a soul to be so chipper, so energetic, so… _cute?_ Even as Napoleon poked his hand with the book, trying to return it to B-52, the blonde soul remains in his sort of trance. He frowns, a cute look only he could properly pull off, as he tries to get B-52’s attention.

“B-52~ B-52? Are you still there? Hello?~” Napoleon bounces impatiently, standing on his tiptoes to reach B-52’s face. He wobbles slightly, taking small steps to try and balance himself better before straight up grabbing B-52’s shoulders to steady himself. B-52 blinks, shaking his head. When had Napoleon gotten that close? He could see so many different shades and tints of red in his eyes, like two identical gemstones with a shine all their own. His hands remain at his side, cookbook long forgotten. He goes tense, uncertainty flooding his system.

And then Napoleon made it worse.  
Or, perhaps he made it better?

Napoleon leans forward, unintentionally pressing against B-52. Getting as close as he could given their height difference (even with him standing on his tiptoes), he smirks and sneaks a quick kiss to his cheek. B-52 jumps, cookbook dropping to the floor once again as he stands there in stunned silence. Almost as soon as he had leaned closer, Napoleon bounces away, but B-52 could have sworn he saw a bit of pink on the energetic soul’s cheeks.

“So, what were you going to make?~” He asks, adjusting his hat with a cheerful grin. He picks up the cookbook and this time, B-52 gently takes it from him, flipping through until he finds the recipe again.

The look on Napoleon’s face was one that made B-52 feel… strange. Warm and fuzzy, a good kind of strange. He wanted to see Napoleon like that more often, and he decided he would do his best to make that happen. Starting with making his favorite food, Strawberry Mousse. 

“Napoleon Cake?” A familiar voice calls out, breaking B-52 from his thoughts once more. Napoleon jumps again, turning towards the voice. Brownie peeks his head in the doorway, blue eyes subtly growing soft as he spots Napoleon.

“Do you remember? We have a mission we need to complete as soon as possible.” He reminds him, walking into the kitchen. “Ah, good morning B-52. Glad to see you up this early.” Brownie notes with a polite nod. B-52 awkwardly returns it, causing Brownie to chuckle gently. It’s a rare sound that makes B-52’s synthetic heart skip a beat.

“Of course I remembered! Brownie, I’m not that forgetful!” He whines, playfully swatting the other’s arm with a pout. The taller brunet simply shakes his head, leading Napoleon out of the kitchen. 

“Honestly, it’s such a hassle.” A low voice startles B-52 and he turns around to find Pastel de Nata standing there, apron over his shoulder. The cold man walks past B-52 and towards the sink, preparing to make some dishes for the restaurant along with a handful of sweets that were definitely not for a certain brunet. 

“Um… Pastel?” The blonde asks nervously, swallowing hard. He isn’t good at cooking, but he knew Pastel was. Perhaps the other could teach him?

“...Yes? What is it?” Either B-52 was imagining things or his voice had gotten a bit softer. It did little to help calm his nerves, though. Pastel sets the towel on the counter and turns to face him properly. “You look ready to faint. Come now, what is it?”

“I… I would like… to ask you… to help me… make this…” B-52 shows him the recipe, eyes wide and full of both fear and hope. It’s a look that made Pastel’s heart melt just a bit. How could he not look at that gentle expression and feel warm? 

“Of course. That one is easy. It also happens to be Napoleon Cake’s favorite.”  
“I know. I mean- yes, yes it is.”  
Pastel raises an eyebrow slightly, but nods.

“I see. So, to begin…”  
And it’s a whir of motion and color, tastes and smells. Everything goes together perfectly, almost like magic instead of a simple cake. B-52’s eyes widen in amazement, wings fluttering behind him excitedly. Pastel made it look so easy! Before he quite knew what had happened, Pastel was icing the cake, a delicate heart placed right in the middle.

“It looks beautiful. But…”  
“-You want to make the one you give him yourself, yes?”

B-52 simply nods shyly, folding his hands in front of himself and fidgeting. A faint smile crosses Pastel’s face as he walks back over to the counter, gesturing for B-52 to follow him.  
“Here, I’ll guide you. First, you mix this…”  
As soon as Pastel’s gloved hands touched B-52’s, the blond soul’s face turns an even brighter pink color. It became incredibly difficult to focus on Pastel’s words, his voice fading into a pleasant hum. 

“B-52?”

“...Oh. I’m sorry, I must have spaced out… I’m sorry!”

Normally, Pastel would have gotten frustrated, would have given up entirely. After all, what was the point in teaching someone who wasn’t listening? But the look of fear and embarrassment on the cocktail’s face makes him think it over and he puts a hand on the other’s trembling shoulder.

“No need to be sorry, okay? Come on, let’s try again.”  
“Okay… Thank you.”  
“No problem.”

They spend the better half of the day making cake after cake, but none of them were perfect. It was quickly taking a toll on B-52, who was getting frustrated.  
After the next imperfect cake, he burst into sobs.  
“Why won’t they turn out right? They’re all wrong!” He sniffles, slamming the spoon onto the counter and curling up into himself. Pastel’s eyes widen slightly and he turns towards him, quickly wrapping an arm around him awkwardly. He was not one for physical comfort, preferring to let someone else handle upset people. But B-52 needed someone, and he was the only one there.

“The cake has to be perfect, Pastel. Anything less would be insulting.”  
“B-52, listen to me, okay?”  
He wipes the tears away with the towel, his harsh expression turning soft as he spoke.  
“I am sure Napoleon Cake will like what you make, no matter what. It’s the thought behind it that counts. Remember that, okay?”

B-52 nods, wiping his eyes.  
“Right… It’s the thought that counts.” He repeats quietly, staring at the most recent cake in front of him.  
“You know, while you say that all of them are imperfect in one way or another, Napoleon would come in here and say ‘that’s a lot of cakes!’.” Pastel adds, looking at all the attempts. Some of them hadn’t baked properly, others had the wrong measurements, but there was no doubt Napoleon would still love them. 

“Brownie! You don’t have to carry me!”  
“Napoleon, I’m going to carry you until we get you to a healer.”  
The brunet stumbles in, face set in a determined glare. His clothes are torn up a bit, presumably from a fallen, likely a Conchi of some sort. Napoleon is even worse, but he keeps up his cheerful self, waving to B-52 and Pastel.

“Bonjour! We’re back!” He calls out, ignoring the quiet groan from Pastel. His ruby red eyes widen at the sight of all the cakes, practically bouncing in Brownie’s arms. B-52’s eyes widen at the sight of the haphazardly-bandaged wounds and rushes over. 

“Heh, what’s with that look? I’m fine, don’t worry~”  
“Napoleon Cake.” The three souls say at the same time, each one’s voice full of concern (and annoyance on Pastel’s end). The shorter brunet frowns, appearing to be annoyed with his friends but truthfully he admired how much they cared about him. Even if it did seem to be in the extremes: too much (Brownie and B-52) or not enough/not at all (Pastel).

“Brownie, get him upstairs. I think Milk is still available.” Pastel says, breaking the silence. Brownie nods and hurries upstairs, Napoleon yawning and curling up a bit. B-52 watches the two leave and then turns to Pastel, who had begun to clean up. B-52 immediately goes over to help him, wanting to have something to do while Napoleon was being healed.

“You’re worried about him.”  
B-52 looks up again, startled. Was he really that easy to read? Most people said he looked frightening, no matter what he may be thinking. Yet Pastel, Brownie and Napoleon all saw through that, seeing emotions B-52 never even knew existed.

A tear slips down his cheek as he nods. Pastel picks up the towel again, then sets it down. He walks over to B-52 and slowly wipes away the tears. “He’s tough. You know that. He’ll be okay before you know it. So don’t cry- he wouldn’t want to see you so upset over him.” B-52 subconsciously leans into the touch, closing his eyes. It felt nice to have someone genuinely concerned for his well being, someone who he could trust not to hurt him at all, someone he could turn to for comfort when he needed it most.

Someone… he could love.  
An emotion he hadn’t felt until he met Napoleon and Brownie. He still had yet to figure it out completely- it was definitely more complex than any of the emotions he had long grown used to. Realizing he had probably made this awkward, he pulls back, looking away.  
“Um… Thank you.”

Pastel lowers his hand to his side with a short nod. “No problem. Now, let’s go give Napoleon these cakes.” B-52 nods quickly, picking up the cake he thought looked best. He didn’t want to waste anyone’s time by nitpicking each one, but as he hovers up the stairs, he began to doubt himself more and more. Would it be good enough? He could only hope.

“Oh. You almost dropped it. Your hands are all shaky; shall I carry it instead?” Pastel’s low voice interrupts his self-doubt and he shakes his head.  
“N-No. I can… I can do this.” He replies stubbornly. Pastel nods in return.  
“If you insist.”

The door to where Napoleon is resting suddenly swings open as Brownie steps out. He looks from Pastel to B-52 to the cake in his hands and smiles faintly.  
“I was just going to get him some water. I’m sure he’ll love some cake, especially Strawberry Mousse.” He notes, walking downstairs. B-52 enters the room and Napoleon’s expression lights up his face, a smile so bright B-52 thought the whole room was shining too.

“Cake? Oh, wow! You didn’t have to, you know…” He exclaims, sitting upright despite Milk’s protests that he shouldn’t move so suddenly. B-52 walks over to him and sets the cake down. Almost immediately, Napoleon digs in, a huge grin on his face.

“It’s so good!” He exclaims, making B-52’s face turn a brighter pink color. Compliments like that were unusual to him and made his heart soar every time. Especially if they came from someone close to him. 

“I am sorry if it isn’t perfect… I did my best…” B-52 murmurs nervously, fidgeting slightly. Napoleon freezes, fork hovering in the air. He sets it down on the plate, then sets the tray onto the nearby nightstand and motions for B-52 to come closer.

Once he’s close enough, Napoleon smiles and shakes his head, playfully tapping B-52’s nose. “I can tell you put a lot of effort into it. It’s perfect as it is~” He replies, smiling as he watches B-52’s face turn an even deeper pink color. He then leans close again and kisses B-52’s cheek teasingly, though this time, B-52 turns his head so Napoleon misses and kisses his lips instead. Now Napoleon is the one flustered, his cheeks turning a gentle pink tint, making his freckles stand out more.

Milk clears her throat, startling the two and interrupting the moment. Her eyes dart to the side in a brief moment of embarrassment before her expression goes blank again.  
“If that is all of your injuries… then I will take my leave.” She says, standing up.  
“Thank you, Miss Milk~” Napoleon calls after her as she leaves.

“Did I do that right?” B-52 asks almost immediately.  
Napoleon’s laugh is the only answer he needs before he digs into the cake once again.


End file.
